In The Beginning
by Helen C
Summary: Ryan runs into some trouble. Set early season one.
1. Chapter 1

**Title** : In The Beginning

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG, I guess.

**Summary** : Ryan runs into some trouble.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN **: Written for finlee, who wanted, "_Ryan helps an old lady - who turns out to be the most feared woman in Newport Beach (but is actually very nice-she just likes people to be uncomfortable around her)_."

Many thanks to Joey51 for beta'ing this.

* * *

**Chapter One**

Ryan had stopped listening to Seth about ten minutes ago. It wasn't lack of interest on his part—Ryan didn't mind learning about comic books, since he didn't know anything about them. And he had to admit, Seth knew the subject inside out, backwards and forward, and he even managed to make it mostly interesting.

Unfortunately, Seth also had the amazing ability to talk for more than an hour without stopping and without repeating himself, and try as he might, Ryan just couldn't focus anymore. His mind had begun to wander when Seth had started on the parallels between Batman and Superman and now, whenever Seth paused to catch his breath, Ryan just made vague noises while observing what was happening around him.

He was trying to take it all in—the people coming and going on the pier, in and out of the stores; forty-something people, dressed in business suits or in shorts and slacks, but all hurrying as if their lives depended on it. People Ryan's age, dressed in expensive clothes, eating ice creams and, from what Ryan could overhear, talking about what everyone in Chino talked about too—sex, money and parties.

The nice stores, the beautiful houses, the beach and the sea… It seemed like a different planet to him, so foreign to what his life had been like just a few weeks earlier.

Every time Ryan's gaze shifted to the ocean, he wondered what he had done to land here, and how long it was going to take for the legendary Atwood bad luck to catch up with him and turn his life upside down again.

Every time Ryan saw the wealthy people milling around, he wondered if he would still be here at Christmas.

He didn't think his mother would change her mind—it wasn't the first time she'd told him to get lost, but this time, she seemed to really mean it. She wouldn't be back, Ryan knew, and he tried to push the thought away, tried not to think about the void she had left in his life, tried not to think about what would happen if things didn't work out with the Cohens and he found himself without a place to go again.

It wouldn't do him any good worrying about it beforehand, but Ryan couldn't help it.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice at first that Seth had stopped talking and wasn't beside him anymore. "What's up?" he asked, turning back to where Seth was standing.

Seth was frozen in place and looked scared, which seemed off to Ryan, who hadn't noticed anything threatening around them.

"Oh my God," Seth whispered.

Ryan frowned and followed Seth's gaze, his frown deepening when all he could see was an old woman who was staring through a store window on the other side of the street.

Ryan tried to catch his friend's attention. "Seth?"

"It's… It's…"

"It's what?"

"It's the S. O. L.," Seth managed to choke out. He still hadn't moved from the place where he had stopped, and Ryan was starting to wonder if he should be amused or worried.

"Okay, I know what S. O. L. usually stands for, but what does it have to do with—?"

Before Ryan could finish his sentence, Seth grabbed his arm and dragged him into the nearest store, whispering, "We need to hide."

All kinds of smart ass comments passed through Ryan's head, from _Do you owe her money?_ to _Has she made a move on you_? He didn't utter the first one, since Seth didn't seem in the mood to joke. "Why? And who is that woman?" he asked instead.

"It's the scary old lady," Seth replied, as if that explained everything.

Ryan crossed his arms and glared at Seth, who finally seemed to understand that he needed to be more explicit.

"Her name's Mrs. Thyls. She's, like, the dragon lady of Newport."

"I thought Julie Cooper was the dragon lady of Newport," Ryan said.

Seth snorted. "No, Mrs Thyls is _way_ worse than Julie Cooper."

Ryan bit back an incredulous laugh as the situation started to sink in.

Ryan had hidden a few times in his life—from Dawn, from Trey, from the boyfriend of a girl he had slept with once, but it had always been from a real danger.

Now…

Now, he and his friend were hiding.

From an elderly woman.

In safe and wealthy Newport.

If Arturo, if _Trey_, could see him right now, they laugh their asses off, and would remind him of this until the end of time.

Seth wasn't finished though. "Seriously, even my mom—even my _granddad—_avoid her when they have a choice. Even Julie Cooper is scared of that woman, Ryan, and you know what it means whenever someone scary gets scared, right?"

"Er," Ryan said, trying to follow Seth's particular logic, and trying not to die of shame at the thought that he was hiding.

From a woman who was probably well into her seventies.

"It's bad," Seth finished.

"But what does she _do_?" Ryan insisted, thinking that there must be something else to make Seth act like… this.

Seth shuddered. "She pinched my cheeks once."

"Don't old people always do that?"

"It was at a charity function. In publicman!"

Ryan winced in sympathy.

"She always looks at teenagers like they don't even deserve her contempt. She humiliates adults on a regular basis. She… she's just scary, Ryan, okay?"

Seth's voice was getting a little too high for Ryan's taste, so he raised his hands in surrender. "Sure. Yeah, I get it. Scary."

There was tense silence, during which Ryan mentally compared AJ to the old woman he had caught a glimpse of before Seth had dragged him in here, and wondered again about Seth's peculiar way of seeing life and people.

"If she sees us, she'll probably make snide comments about the wasted youth of today, and about my Mom's money, and about how she knew me when I was seven, and believe me, she knows lots of stories about me, and it'll be embarrassing."

_Yeah, wouldn't want _that, Ryan thought. But then, would meeting that woman be more embarrassing than hiding from her? Ryan doubted it.

"I think she's gone," Seth said, peeking through the window. He dragged Ryan back outside and started yapping about comic books again, as if nothing had happened.

"Yeah," Ryan said, when Seth nudged him.

He was too busy trying to understand what the hell was so scary about an old woman to pay much attention to what Seth was saying, though.

………………………..

For the next two days, Ryan kept his eyes open to try to spot Mrs. Thyls again, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Seth had told his parents about their "near-miss encounter of the scary lady kind," and Kirsten had gone white, then blushed, leading Ryan to the conclusion that she was as intimidated as Seth was. Sandy had seemed amused, but hadn't said much on the subject, which struck Ryan as odd since he had always assumed that Sandy, like Seth, had a lot to say about pretty much everything.

Ryan even asked a few of the other waiters at the Crab Shack if they knew about her, and noticed how they tended to pale and mumble whenever he broached the subject. Ryan couldn't decide if it was funny or disturbing.

After everything that had happened to him, an elderly woman didn't seem like much of a threat. On the other hand, seeing even Newport's "rightful owners," as he had taken to thinking about them, hide and/or pale in front of the woman was unnerving.

There wasn't much he could do about it, though. If Ryan had learned one thing in his life, it was to go with the flow, and deal with whatever shit was thrown his way. He'd deal with the scary lady if and when she crossed his path—he just hoped that day would never come.

………………………..

Three weeks after his arrival at the Cohens, Ryan got back to the house late in the afternoon to find Kirsten in the kitchen. It was almost two hours before her usual time, and Ryan felt his stomach do a little flip-flop, wondering what was wrong.

"Everything okay?" he asked. "You're here early."

"You too," she said without answering his question.

Ryan shrugged. "Another waiter wanted to switch shifts with me."

She didn't ask him where he had spent the afternoon if he hadn't worked, but he heard himself volunteering the information. "I took my bike and I rode around a little."

Kirsten nodded and rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Did you have fun?"

"It was quiet," Ryan answered, unsettled.

He always felt a little uncomfortable around Kirsten, no matter how hard he tried not to be. He knew what Seth expected of him—a friendly ear, companionship, advice. He knew what Sandy expected of him—stop fighting and try to make a better life for himself.

With Kirsten, he wasn't so sure. She wasn't giving anything away, and he didn't know how he was supposed to act around her, what he was supposed to say to her.

"Kirsten, what's wrong?" Ryan asked again.

She sighed and shook her head. "Everything is fine. It's just that Seth tried to do something stupid on his skateboard, and fell."

Ryan winced. "Is he okay?"

"Broken ankle," Kirsten replied flatly, her displeasure obvious.

Ryan took a moment to process the news. "Sorry," he said at last, thinking that perhaps, if he had come back immediately when he had learned he wouldn't work today, he might have been able to prevent this. Unfortunately, he had been a little tired of constantly being with Seth, and he had wanted to spend some time by himself, and it was too late for second thoughts anyway.

Kirsten looked at him, surprised, then smiled. "He'll be fine," she repeated. She took a deep breath. "I told him, repeatedly, to be careful on that thing, but he keeps…" She gestured vaguely, looking exhausted. "He's grounded, by the way."

Ryan nodded, unsure how he should reply to _that_. "Can I—?"

"MOM!" Seth yelled from the den, startling Ryan.

"I'm coming," Kirsten called back, calmly, gesturing for Ryan to follow.

Seth was lying down on the couch, his left leg propped up on pillows. His eyes were red, and Ryan grimaced in sympathy.

"Sorry, but I'm thirsty," Seth announced.

"I'll bring you something," Kirsten said, heading back to the kitchen.

"Thanks." Seth finally spotted Ryan and waved at him. "Hey, man."

Ryan waved back uncertainly. "Hey. Nice cast."

"It itches," Seth complained.

Ryan looked at him doubtfully. "Seth, I've broken bones before, and it usually doesn't start itching that quickly."

"Yeah, well, it does," Seth said, sounding like a petulant kid.

Ryan briefly wondered if it was the pain or the painkillers making his friend act like a ten-year-old. Either way, he understood now why Kirsten looked so tired.

Kirsten came back from the kitchen with a glass of water, and sat down on the table in front of Seth, brushing his hair from his forehead. "This is the third time you've seriously hurt yourself on this thing."

"Yes, but I've had it since I was ten, so, it's only an average of once every two years."

Ryan stifled a laugh at Seth's logic, but he had to admit he was impressed. He had only suffered from broken bones twice himself, and he remembered well how much it hurt, and what a pain it was to wear a cast. Seth was certainly persistent—Ryan would have decided it wasn't worth the risk and would have thrown the skateboard away after the first accident.

"Seth…"

"Come on, Mom, it's not that bad."

"This time," Kirsten said. "It's not that bad _this time_. And I'm throwing that thing away, no argument."

Seth pouted, and Ryan could already predict that there would be arguments, no matter what Kirsten said.

"I need to call Dad, tell him I'm taking the week off," Kirsten announced.

Ryan almost blurt out, "Why?" but caught himself in time. Of course Kirsten was going to take time off to take care of Seth until he could move by himself. What was he thinking?

It kept hitting him, several times a day, how different his life was now. Sometimes, the differences were amusing, but most time it hurt, and only served to remind him of how screwed up his home life had been.

Watching Kirsten as she smiled at Seth and patted his shoulder, he couldn't help feeling a pang of envy.

Some people managed to make their families work, even in Chino.

Why hadn't his family been able to do it?

What had made his mom unable to care for him the same way Kirsten cared for Seth?

Feeling like an intruder, Ryan quietly retreated from the room, leaving Seth and Kirsten alone.

………………………..

"I want ice cream," Seth announced after diner.

"We only have vanilla ice cream left," Kirsten replied. "And you don't like that kind."

She sounded frustrated, and Ryan could understand why—she had specifically asked Seth earlier if he needed something from the store, and Seth had said no. Ryan was amazed at how calm Kirsten had remained through the whole day. He'd snapped at Seth twice already, and he had felt guilty both times when Seth had looked all chastened and remorseful.

But Kirsten seemed to have an endless supply of patience at her disposal, and only the slight tightening of her lips betrayed her frustration.

Looking at Kirsten's exhausted face and at Sandy's empty chair, Ryan got his feet. "I'll go get some," he offered.

Kirsten shook her head. "You don't have to, Ryan."

"Mom!" Seth said. "Thanks, man. It's probably the only thing that'll make me feel better."

Ryan shrugged. "I'd go with Demerol, myself, but hey… your body, your call."

Seth smiled slightly. "Very funny."

Kirsten shook her head at both of them. "Take the car, Ryan. And be careful."

"Mom, it's Newport," Seth said. "Not exactly a rough neighborhood. What could happen?"

"Famous last words. Don't tempt fate!" Ryan warned half-heartedly, grabbing the keys on his way out.

………………………..

Ryan was making his way to the car, the three cartons of ice cream in one hand, keys in the other, when he heard a man yelling.

"Look, lady, just give me your fucking purse and no one will get hurt, okay?"

Ryan stopped dead in his tracks, scanning the street. He spotted the man and an old woman at the intersection and mentally took notes on the thug—bad place for a mugging, there was too much light and too much traffic at that place to stay unnoticed for long. Clearly, the guy was either amateurish or stupid.

Or both.

Then, Ryan saw the guy raising his hand and hitting the woman.

Without thinking, Ryan dropped his groceries and ran to them.

* * *

TBC… 


	2. Chapter 2

**Title** : In The Beginning

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG, I guess.

**Summary** : Ryan runs into some trouble, as he tends to do in fanfic (happy people have no stories, right?)

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN **: Written for finlee, who wanted, "_Ryan helps an old lady - who turns out to be the most feared woman in Newport Beach (but is actually very nice-she just likes people to be uncomfortable around her)_."

Many thanks to cheekymice for her help, and to Joey51 for beta'ing this.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

The two people talking loudly around him were giving him a headache.

"Kid?"

"Young man?"

"Ma'am, I'm gonna have to ask you to—"

Ryan tried to turn his head away from the noise, but he couldn't move.

He heard someone say, "Ow."

The voices stopped, and Ryan almost sighed in relief. His head was starting to pound and he really wanted to go back to sleep until it passed.

"No, no, stay awake," a male voice said, too close to him.

"I'm not awake," Ryan said, before realizing that perhaps talking was not the best way to convince anyone that he was asleep.

Great.

Way to play possum.

Ryan tried to roll over to his side, and felt hands holding him in place.

"Sorry," the man said when Ryan tried to struggle. "I can't let you move until the medics are here."

Ryan groaned but stopped trying to fight him—he didn't have a chance in hell of winning anyway.

"Open your eyes, kid."

Ryan did, and blinked until the blurry face peering down at him got, well, less blurry.

"What your name?" the man asked.

"Ryan Atwood."

Then, it finally dawned on him that the man was wearing a uniform.

Wonderful.

A cop.

Just what Ryan needed to make his bad day even worse.

"Good. Do you know where you are?" the cop asked.

Ryan frowned, his memories sluggishly coming back to the surface.

Ice cream.

He had gone out to buy ice cream.

And then, he had heard an altercation.

And, naturally, stupid, misguided fool that he was, he had rushed to help.

Great.

"Ryan? Do you know where you are?"

_Near that store_, Ryan tried to say, but what came out of his mouth was, "No."

Uh.

Interesting.

In a freaky and totally scary way.

He tried again, and heard himself saying, "I mean, no."

"It's okay," the cop said.

Ryan tried to glare at him—how could the man say that anything was okay? What was he, dumb?—but he didn't think his angry look was very effective, all things considered.

"Do you remember what happened?" the cop asked.

Ryan sighed.

What was it with the twenty questions anyway?

And what was the point if he couldn't even answer them correctly?

"Ryan?"

The way that cop was repeating his name over and over was annoying, so Ryan decided he'd better answer, and be done with it.

Perhaps, then, the cop would finally leave him the fuck alone.

He could remember a man hitting that old woman—and hadn't she looked vaguely familiar?—and he could also remember fighting with the guy, and being pushed back, but not much more.

"Ryan?"

"Yeah," Ryan snapped. "I don't remember, okay?"

"As I told you, he hit his head," a woman's voice threw in, from some distance.

Another man joined the discussion—just how many people were there anyway?—his voice weary. "Mrs. Thyls, please…"

Now that name definitely rang a bell. "The Scary Lady's here?" Ryan asked.

He heard a strangled noise coming from the cop, and closed his eyes.

He had meant to call her Mrs. Thyls, but for some reason, the words that had gone out of his mouth hadn't been the ones he had planned.

Weird and unfortunate.

Oops.

And the way his luck was going, the woman had certainly heard him.

Again with the oops.

Ryan groaned and opened his eyes again to glare at the cop, who seemed amused.

Fucker.

Ryan closed his eyes again.

The ambulance would be there soon, he assumed, and in the meantime, he didn't feel like looking at a cop who was having way too much fun at his expense.

………………………..

"Ryan?"

He sighed inwardly.

Here they came again.

They kept waking him up—to make sure they still could, they said, but it didn't make it any less frustrating when all he wanted to do was sleep.

"Can you hear me?"

Yes, he could hear her, even though his hearing _was_ a little strange—sometimes, noises seemed very loud, and sometimes, they sounded far away, muffled by some kind of buzzing.

He remembered complaining about it, some time ago, to some guy who had told him it was normal and it would pass eventually.

"Ryan, it's time to wake up."

Ryan ignored the voice.

He was conformable, and he was still sleepy, and whoever the hell was trying to wake him up was just going to have to wait. A long, long time.

"Ryan, please, wake up, sweetheart."

Not even nice names would bring him out of his sleep.

He deserved to rest, damn it.

"I'm going to ask you to step out, Mrs. Cohen."

Mrs. Cohen?

Kirsten was here?

"But—"

"Just so I can check him over."

He felt a hand softly brushing his forehead. "I'll be right back."

Then there was some shuffling, and a door closing.

"Ryan?"

He reluctantly tried to pry his eyes open.

"Good, I know you can hear me. Come on, Ryan, you know the drill, you need to wake up all the way, now."

Ryan tried again, and this time he managed to kind-of open his eyes.

"Hey there." A nurse smiled down at him. All the nurses he had met so far had been smiling at him. It was almost freaky. "How do you feel?"

_Peachy_, Ryan tried to say, but what came out of his mouth sounded more like, "Urgh."

"Headache?" the nurse insisted.

Ryan pondered that a moment before whispering, "No." This time, at least, his answer was understandable.

Progress.

"Good," she said. "We gave you some pretty strong painkillers, I don't know if you remember."

Ryan didn't.

Nor did he care.

He felt loopy, and he liked it that way, and if only these people would let him sleep, life would be good.

"Well, I know you'll find it annoying, but we're going to keep waking you up form time to time," she said.

"Yay," Ryan said, biting his lip when he realized he had said it out loud. Shit, he hadn't meant to do that.

The nurse merely smiled, though.

"Was Kirsten here?" Ryan asked.

"Yes, I'll send her right back." The nurse patted his shoulder. "She was very worried about you."

_Why_? Ryan thought. The nurse was gone before he could ask, and then Kirsten was there, smiling at him—what _was_ it with all the smiling?—hesitating a moment before taking his hand.

"Hey. How do you feel?"

"Kirsten?" he mumbled, surprised at how weak his voice sounded all of a sudden.

She nodded, her smile wavering a little.

Ryan felt his eyes closing on their own accord, and heard a whispered, "Rest, I'll stay here."

………………………..

When Ryan woke up again, there was a man he didn't know by his side and Kirsten was nowhere to be seen.

"Hi, Ryan, I'm doctor Mulan."

"Hey," Ryan said, wondering where Kirsten had gone.

Had he just imagined that she was here?

"Do you mind answering a few questions for me?"

"Was Kirsten here?" Ryan asked.

The doctor nodded reassuringly. "We asked her to wait outside for a little while," he said. "We'll send her back in as soon as we're finished."

"'kay," Ryan said.

Answering "a few questions" seemed to take an eternity. Ryan was exhausted when the doctor was finally done giving him the third degree, and he still had a few blanks—a few moments, in between bouts of consciousness, when he couldn't remember anything.

The ride to the hospital for example—he remembered the cop at the scene, and he remembered waking up in the ER, but nothing in between.

And he couldn't remember what had happened between the ER and the moment when he had awoken again in a room either. A nurse had told him that they had taken him upstairs to the scan, so they could make sure he hadn't injured himself too badly, but Ryan was drawing a blank whenever he tried to remember any of it.

The doctor didn't seem too concerned about the memory loss, which Ryan assumed was good. Besides, it wasn't like this was the first time he was knocked out in a fight and lost a few minutes of his life.

He didn't like it, and he didn't like the detached feeling he experienced sometimes—as if someone else took control of his body and Ryan was stuck with the observer role, and whether this was due to the concussion or to the painkillers, it sucked—but he could deal with it.

………………………..

True to his word, the doctor sent Kirsten back in as soon as he was finished, and Ryan decided that he liked the guy.

"How do you feel?" Kirsten asked as soon as she entered the room.

"Shitty," Ryan replied. He felt his cheeks burn at her smile. "Sorry," he added.

"It's okay."

"Why are you here?" Ryan asked.

"The hospital called us," Kirsten replied. "Told us you had been involved in a fight. Of course, I came."

"But Seth…" Ryan felt his eyes close, and Kirsten took his hand and squeezed it, just once.

"Sandy is with him," she said. "Sleep now. I'll be here when you wake up."

Ryan didn't have the energy to do anything else.

………………………..

Ryan spent the next day in the hospital, repeating to himself that it could have been worse.

At least nothing was broken.

At least he hadn't been arrested, and no one seemed to imply that he had done anything wrong.

At least he probably wouldn't stay here long.

At least they were giving him strong painkillers.

At least he hadn't said anything he didn't mean to say in the last two hours, and he hoped that meant that that particular side-effect of the concussion was over.

At least…

Well, that was about it, Ryan thought glumly.

And none of this made up for the general suckiness of the situation.

He hadn't even lasted a month here before landing in the hospital.

He was stuck on a hospital bed on a beautiful summer day.

Granted, Seth was going to be stuck inside the house for a few weeks, and that was much worse than what Ryan was suffering, but still…

It sucked.

Not that he shouldn't have expected something like that; Atwood luck and Seth's parting words the previous night—every sign had been pointing in this direction.

Of course, something like this was going to happen.

Ryan sighed and closed his eyes, hoping he'd be able to catch some sleep. Since he was condemned to spend time here, he might as well sleep it away.

He had sent Kirsten back to the house, so she could shower and eat something that didn't come out of a vending machine. It had taken some work to convince her that, yes, he felt more than able to spend a couple of hours by himself here, and that no, really, he didn't mind if she went home for a while. She had promised she'd come back as soon as possible, or at the very least send Sandy to keep him company.

She seemed reluctant to leave him, and he had refrained from pointing out that she had already done more for him that night than his own mother had ever done. He didn't like the slightly pitying expression on her face when he said things like that.

He still couldn't believe she had stayed there all night—he vaguely remembered waking up, early in the morning, with a splitting headache, and he had been alone in the room by then. He had barely had the time to feel slightly disappointed that she wasn't there, when she'd entered the room, taken one look at him, and asked, "Are you in pain?"

Naturally, at that point, his brain's newfound tendency to say things Ryan didn't mean had kicked in, and he'd heard himself say, "No."

"Ryan?" Kirsten had insisted.

"No," he'd said again, frowning as he mentally chanted, "Yes, yes, fuck, yes."

Thankfully, Kirsten had correctly interpreted his frown and had called a nurse anyway, then had held his hand until the nurse had given him a new dose of painkiller.

He had drifted back to sleep hearing her muttered reassurances, and feeling safer than he had in a long while—which, Ryan thought now, was more than a little irrational. He had been in Newport for all of three weeks, he barely knew the Cohens, and he still wasn't sure that this arrangement would last.

And Kirsten had left her broken-legged son to come sit with Ryan all night, even though a month ago, she didn't even know he existed.

What kind of people did that?

Ryan sighed and checked the clock, noting that it was almost time for another dose of painkillers—a good thing too, as he could feel the beginning of a headache building, slowly but steadily.

A brisk knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and Ryan called, "Come in."

Then, he gulped and regretted not having pretended to sleep, because the scary lady was here, and she was looking more than a little stern.

* * *

TBC... 


	3. Chapter 3

**Title** : In The Beginning

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG, I guess.

**Summary** : Ryan runs into some trouble, as he tends to do in fanfic (happy people have no stories, right?)

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN **: Written for finlee, who wanted, "_Ryan helps an old lady - who turns out to be the most feared woman in Newport Beach (but is actually very nice-she just likes people to be uncomfortable around her)_."

Many thanks to Joey51 for beta'ing this.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Mrs. Thyls entered the room as if she owned it (which, considering that this was Newport, was a distinct possibility) and took a seat next to the bed, holding her purse on her lap.

Ryan felt nervous all of a sudden—sure, he knew she was the woman he had helped last night. Kirsten had explained it to him, and his sluggish brain had finally connected the dots and understood her presence at the scene.

Up until now, however, Ryan had done a good job ignoring the larger repercussions.

Too bad he couldn't go on that way, but she was here now and he had no idea what she wanted with him.

Mrs. Thyls spent a moment staring at Ryan, who tried not to squirm under her scrutiny.

He hated it when people stared at him, and being stuck in a bed, wearing only a hospital gown and nothing else, only made the situation worse.

He wished Kirsten had grabbed some of his clothes when she had rushed to the hospital last night.

There was just no way to feel comfortable when being pretty much naked under the covers and being stared at by doctors, nurses, and the most feared woman this side of the USA.

God, he hoped Kirsten would come back soon.

With clothes.

And while he was at it, he also dearly hoped that a nurse would soon come in with a painkiller of some kind, and that Mrs. Thyls would either say something or look elsewhere.

"Well?" Mrs. Thyls said, as if in answer to Ryan's prayers.

Unfortunately, that didn't help at all.

"Well what?" he asked. "Ma'am," he added for good measure.

"Mrs. Thyls," the woman informed him. "I don't think we have ever been formally introduced. And don't try to change the subject, young man."

"It's Ryan," Ryan replied, his tone probably less polite than it should have been.

Damn it, but he hated it when people called him "young man."

Mrs. Thyls looked down before Ryan could see how she was taking it, and he felt his headache get a little fiercer.

Shit.

Clearly, the concussion and the painkillers were playing havoc with his good sense—assuming he still possessed a good sense, which seemed increasingly unlikely.

Because he was talking back.

To the scary lady.

Whom pretty much everyone had warned him about—even Kirsten seemed cowed at the mere mention of her name, and Kirsten seemed pretty fearless, from what Ryan had seen so far.

When Mrs. Thyls looked up, Ryan forced himself to look calm and collected.

He was _not _intimidated, he told himself.

He had met scarier people than Mrs. Thyls, and he had handled them, and he was not going to be turned into a blushing, stammering _teenager_ by that woman.

He didn't care about what she thought about him.

He was _not_ intimidated.

And if the pain in his head didn't diminish soon, something bad was going to happen.

"Ryan, then," Mrs. Thyls said. "How do you feel?"

_Great_, Ryan thought sarcastically. _It just feels like my head's going to explode soon, and while I'm sure it would be interesting, it's not something I particularly want to experience just yet_.

Saying all that would have required a lot more energy that he currently had, though, so he just replied, "Fine." Monosyllabic words were the way to go here. "I feel fine."

She looked skeptical. "Do you?"

Ryan started to nod, and immediately regretted it, as a wave of pain started to build at the back of his skull and slowly propagated to the rest of his head. For a while, Ryan saw stars—the show was beautiful, but he would have enjoyed it more without the accompanying pain.

Ryan heard voices and felt himself being lifted up into a sitting position as his stomach revolted, the retching making his headache even worse, and the pain making his nausea worse.

Eventually, Ryan managed to stop puking long enough to whisper an apology to whoever was with him right now—hopefully it was a nurse, because if he had just thrown up in front of Mrs. Thyls, he might just die of embarrassment.

Which would at least put him out of his misery.

"It's okay," he heard.

He blinked and a nurse came into focus. She smiled at him gently. "Do you think you can swallow a pill or—"

At the mere thought of swallowing anything, Ryan felt his stomach protest again.

The nurse chuckled sympathetically as he grimaced, closed his eyes and counted to ten in the hope that focusing on something else would make him feel less miserable. "Ok, then, shot it is," she said.

Ryan lacked the energy to protest, so he just allowed her to roll him over to his side. He knew what was coming, he knew that he should have felt mortified at this point, and he probably would be later, when he thought back about this. In the meantime, though, he was in too much pain to care where the painkiller came from, as long as it kicked in quickly.

He felt a sharp, quick sting, then the nurse helped him lie down again.

"Ow," Ryan finally said, a few minutes later, when he felt like he could open his mouth without being sick again.

His ass was burning but his head hurt less, and Ryan certainly wasn't going to complain.

"Better?" the nurse asked.

He croaked a "Yeah," remembering just in time not to nod—in fact, he was never going to nod ever again.

It was probably safer that way.

"Well, do you want me to send your visitor back?" the nurse asked. Her voice caught on "visitor," making Ryan wonder if there was anyone in Newport who didn't know Mrs. Thyls.

Ryan almost replied that he didn't feel up to it, and could she please, in the name of all that was holy, tell Mrs. Thyls to come back tomorrow.

Or the day after that.

Or never.

Whatever.

Sadly, experience had taught Ryan that it never helped to delay the inevitable.

He had managed to get on Mrs. Thyls' radar, and now, she wanted to talk to him.

And if a tenth of the stories he'd heard were true, Mrs. Thyls _would_ talk to him, eventually.

At least, if he allowed her back now, he could blame any unfortunate words leaving his mouth on the concussion, and the painkiller the nurse had given him was so good that the whole experience might even be relatively painless.

"Sure," he said. "Send her back in."

The nurse gave him a strange look, and Ryan thought she was biting back a smile as she said, "Well, you're braver than most people in this town are, then."

Ryan smiled weakly. "Right." Then, because he had to know—forewarned was forearmed and all that—he asked, "Did I throw up in front of her?"

The nurse chuckled. "No."

Ryan let out a small sigh of relief.

That was something, he guessed.

The nurse winked at him sympathetically and got out, and a few seconds later, Mrs. Thyls was back.

"So, you're fine, is that what you were saying?" she asked, as soon as she set foot in the room.

One thing to say for the woman; she didn't beat around the bush.

Ryan sighed. "I will be," he amended. "In a few days."

Mrs. Thyls harrumphed. "Of course." She sighed and came back to her seat, looking less intimidating and more, well, elderly. "Well, I was just stopping by to thank you," she said.

"Thank me?" Ryan repeated, wondering if he was going to survive this weird, weird day, with his sanity intact.

The way things were going, the odds didn't look good.

The scary lady was actually thanking him?

Wasn't she supposed to yell at him?

Or at the very least, imply nasty things about young people these days, and possibly embarrass him in front of people?

"For saving me," Mrs. Thyls explained. "That thug hit me, and would certainly have hurt me eventually."

Ryan blinked at her, and she made an impatient gesture. "Well, don't look so surprised. Don't tell me no one has ever thanked you for saving their life."

"I don't usually save people's lives," Ryan replied. Which wasn't totally true. He did have a well-known tendency to rush into danger and try to help people. Trey had complained about it often enough. As had Dawn. And Theresa. And Arturo. And Eddie.

But still, "saving someone's life" sounded so… dramatic.

"Of course, you usually steal their money and threaten them with guns, and possibly even kill them," Mrs. Thyls said with a small, knowing smile.

"What?" Ryan asked, grimacing when his too loud voice echoed in his head.

Okay, no nodding _and_ no loud talking.

"That's what word in town is," Mrs. Thyls said. "According to half the town, you're after the Cohens' money, and according to the other half, you're going to corrupt our innocent youth and eventually vanish into thin air, leaving only a path of destruction in your wake."

Ryan felt his lips curl in what was probably a grimace. "That was predictable," he muttered.

He could understand why people thought that about him, but really, he was just one sixteen-year-old kid. What did they think he could do against their whole community?

And besides, it wasn't as if they didn't have thieves in their midst already. In light of Jimmy Cooper stealing a few millions from his clients, Ryan stealing a car and getting caught seemed pretty pitiful, really.

"Yes, I'm afraid it was," Mrs. Thyls said, a little sadly. "There are lots of things I like in this town, but its people's bigotry is not one of them."

Her voice was softer now, and Ryan studied her for a long while, frowning.

He had heard so many horror stories about her in the last few days, and no one had seemed to believe that Mrs. Thyls had a heart. In fact, everyone seemed convinced that she drank blood on a regular basis and didn't need mirrors anymore.

Yet…

Yet, she had just spent about ten minutes in Ryan's room, maybe even more, and she hadn't made one derogatory comment to him. She had thanked him, expressed concern for him… what the hell was going on here?

She may be grateful that he helped her, but even gratefulness didn't change people that much, Ryan knew that.

"You look like you expect me to tell you that these people are right and I agree with them."

"I do," Ryan replied.

Mrs. Thyls chuckled and Ryan groaned softly.

Clearly, the painkillers had kicked in, and were now making him way too relaxed.

Was that what Seth felt like, most of the time—unable to control what he said, and only able to cringe when he realized what he had said? If so, Ryan was seriously going to be more sympathetic to his plight in the future.

"Ah, yes, I remember now," Mrs. Thyls said. "The Scary Lady—surely, that boy you're living with has told you all about me."

"Obviously not 'all,'" Ryan said.

Mrs. Thyls waved a hand around. "Yes. Well, I'm an old woman, Ryan. My children have made a life for themselves, and I need entertainment. There's so little to watch on TV these days."

"Entertainment?" Ryan repeated, incredulous. "You mean… you're scaring people on purpose?"

She smiled brightly. "Of course. I have a lot of money, so they're forced to deal with me anyway, and I enjoy watching people squirm."

Ryan bit his lip, fighting a smile. "Are you having me on?" he asked.

She stood up. "Of course, not," she replied primly. "I was just making sure that you were all right, and that you knew how grateful I am."

"It's okay—" Ryan said, dismissing her thanks.

"I'm well aware of what kind of world we live in, Ryan," Mrs. Thyls said. "I know that many people wouldn't have stopped and helped."

Ryan shrugged. He knew as well as she did that, too often, people didn't help.

"Now, I would appreciate if my little secret could remain…secret."

Ryan smiled. "No problem," he said. "No one would believe me anyway."

She nodded, patted his leg. "I'll go."

"Mrs. Thyls?" he asked, as she was exiting the room.

"Yes?"

"How long have you…"

He trailed off, unsure how to put it, but she seemed to understand his question. "Since my oldest son passed away," she replied, smiling sadly. "Eleven years."

Ryan started to laugh, quietly, so as to not awaken the pain again.

She smiled at him. "I think I like you," she announced, leaving the room before he could react.

Ryan stretched on the bed, feeling tired and dazed and slightly nauseous—almost as if he had just spent three hours listening to Seth's ramblings.

_Could this day possibly get any weirder_? he wondered, drifting to sleep.

* * *

TBC 


	4. Chapter 4

**Title** : In The Beginning

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG, I guess.

**Summary** : Ryan runs into some trouble, as he tends to do in fanfic (happy people have no stories, right?)

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN **: Written for finlee, who wanted, "_Ryan helps an old lady - who turns out to be the most feared woman in Newport Beach (but is actually very nice-she just likes people to be uncomfortable around her)_."

Many thanks to Joey51 for beta'ing this.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

When Ryan woke up, Sandy was sitting next to the bed, reading the newspaper and humming softly under his breath. There was an empty cup of coffee on the nightstand and its lingering smell made Ryan's stomach churn.

He took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn't get sick, then leaned on his elbow to try to sit up. Sandy looked up at the movement. "Hey!" he said, dropping his newspaper and helping Ryan into a sitting position.

"Hey," Ryan said softly, once he was settled. He didn't feel nauseous anymore, but a headache was building up again, which was really growing tiresome beyond words.

Sandy considered Ryan for a moment. "I'd ask how you feel, but…"

Ryan sighed. "Yeah."

"Need anything?" Sandy asked.

Ryan closed his eyes, wondering if there was any chance the headache would go away on its own, before deciding that it probably wouldn't. He shrugged. "Tylenol? Morphine? Or possibly a gun."

Sandy patted his shoulder awkwardly. "Let's try Tylenol first."

"Yeah."

Sandy called a nurse, who told Sandy to step out please and gave Ryan "a mild painkiller."

_Why 'mild?'_ Ryan almost asked. Why not go immediately for the heavy-duty stuff, so that he could sleep the day away, which would bring him that much closer to his release?

He had learned long ago not to antagonize nurses though—Trey had once told him that nurses had the power to make his life very embarrassing and would use it if he didn't behave. Ryan had laughed and shrugged it off. Then, he had had to spend a night in the hospital, and he had been pissy and rude with the staff, and what had happened as a consequence was a memory he had worked hard to repress, and that he would never, ever share with anyone. It had been years and the words "sponge bath" still made him blush. Fuck, but that trainee nurse had sure been clumsy…

He had learned his lesson though. He was always very polite and cooperative, now. He just didn't have any way to fight these women back on their own turf.

And clearly, he needed more sleep if he was starting to think about a stay in the hospital as a street war.

"Call me if you need something stronger," the nurse advised as she got out.

"Believe me, I will," Ryan replied, his earnest tone making her chuckle.

Sandy came back, smiling widely. "I think the nurses here like you." He sat down, nodding to himself. "I think I heard two of them discussing how cute you are."

_Cute?_ Ryan thought, trying not to feel insulted. _Puppies_ were cute. _He_ wasn't. "Great," he said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. "But hopefully, I'm not going to stay here long enough for them to really get to know me, so…" Then it occurred to him that no one had told him yet how long he was going to have to stay here—just that it wouldn't be too long, but what did that mean exactly? "I'm not, am I?" he asked.

Sandy chuckled. "Would it be so bad? Some of them are quite hot."

Ryan groaned. "That's just… wrong." He shot a look at Sandy, and frowned. "And you didn't answer my question. Did they tell you?"

Sandy smiled tiredly. "According to the doctor, you should be allowed to come home tomorrow."

Which meant at least another twenty-four hours, possibly more if Sandy meant "Tomorrow afternoon." Ryan knew he'd just have to deal with it, but he still asked, just in case, "Why not today? I feel fine."

"You took a nasty blow to the head," Sandy replied, looking serious all of a sudden. "You lost consciousness."

"Not for long," Ryan argued.

"Long enough." Sandy sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making him appear even more disheveled than usual. "Ryan, it's just one more day. And everyone will feel better if the doctors can keep an eye on you for a while, okay?"

Ryan thought about pointing out that he had taken blows to the head and lost consciousness before and that he had survived without even going to a hospital, but that would probably lead to some embarrassing questions.

He thought about pointing out that one night in a hospital cost a small fortune, but he had learned within three days with the Cohens that their answer to this kind of consideration was, "Don't worry about that; money is supposed to be spent."

He thought about pointing out that he hated being stuck in a hospital, but that probably wouldn't sway Sandy.

Ryan sighed, recognizing he had lost the battle. "Fine."

He must have looked defeated, and Sandy patted his shoulder again, saying, "I have something that might cheer you up."

Ryan raised an eyebrow as Sandy got up and went to a small cupboard next to the door, coming back with a bag. "Clothes, my friend," Sandy announced.

Ryan broke into a huge smile. "Great," he said, resisting the absurd urge to jump out of bed, grab the bag and make a run for the bathroom with it. He knew from experience that moving too fast when recovering from a concussion was not a good idea.

Sandy had a small laugh. "I knew you'd like it. Kirsten packed them, so I think you should have everything you need."

"Thanks," Ryan said, carefully throwing back the covers and getting to his feet. His legs were shaky and Sandy took his arm to help him to stand.

"Want me to call one of those nice nurses to help you with that?" he asked.

"No!" Ryan said, quickly. He stood still for a moment, then shook off Sandy's arm when he felt like he could walk without falling. Taking the bag, he was about to make his way to the bathroom when something occurred to him. "Er, Sandy?"

"Yes?"

Sandy was standing there, looking amused, making it obvious that he already knew exactly what Ryan was going to say.

Wonderful.

Ryan shot Sandy a dire look, which seemed to amuse him even more.

"These gowns don't exactly close in the back," Ryan said at last.

"I know," Sandy replied, smirking.

Ryan glared at him for a while and Sandy eventually gave up, chuckling. "Okay, kid, I'm turning my back, and I won't peek."

"I hope so, 'cause that would be creepy," Ryan said.

Sandy snorted and went to the window, turning his back to the room.

Ryan walked carefully to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He shot a longing look to the shower. He really wanted to wash up, but he didn't think he was going to be able to stay awake long enough for that—that painkiller may have been mild, but it was still enough to make him feel loopy. _Next time_, he thought.

He quickly put on some sweat pants and a tee-shirt, and studied his reflection in the mirror. He grimaced slightly at the bruise on his jaw, and at the one around his left eye. He had been aware that some areas of his face were a little tender, but until now, he had been too bothered by the headaches, the nausea and Mrs. Thyls' visit to really be concerned about that.

Now that he could see them, though, he had to admit that the bruises looked nasty. And he had no recollection of getting them, which was strange.

He was used to bruises, probably too used to them, really, but he usually vividly recalled how he had ended up with them.

He gently prodded the back of his skull, where he knew it had hit the sidewalk, and grimaced at the bump he felt there, painful even under his light touch.

There was a brief knock just as Ryan was reaching for the door handle.

"You okay, kid?" Sandy asked.

Ryan opened the door and smiled weakly. "Yeah," he said.

"Well, you look like you should lie down now."

Ryan didn't protest. He hadn't expected that such a simple thing as changing clothes would tire him out, but there it was.

He let Sandy help him back into the bed and curled up on his side as Sandy took his seat again.

There was a short silence and Sandy smiled nervously, his fingers tapping lightly on his leg. Ryan started to wonder if he was expected to say something. He usually felt comfortable around Sandy, but this morning, there was something slightly off with the man. 

He was a little too cheerful, a little too… perky, and Ryan didn't know what to make of that.

Was there a problem? Something so bad that Sandy didn't want to talk about it with Ryan?

"Sandy?"

The fingers ceased their tapping. "Yeah?"

"Is everything okay?"

"Sure," Sandy said.

With a pang of guilt, Ryan realized that he hadn't even asked about Seth yet. Perhaps that was what Sandy was nervous about. "Is Seth all right?"

"Yeah. Well, he's a little grumpy… He's driving Kirsten insane. He can be… challenging when he's not feeling well." He paused before adding, "Kirsten wanted to come back, you know? I know she'd said she would, and she will, but someone had to stay with Seth."

Sandy's answer sounded sincere enough and Ryan frowned.

His eyelids were growing heavy, and he had to make an effort not to yawn, but he didn't want to fall asleep until he knew what was bothering Sandy.

"You should rest," Sandy said.

"What's wrong?" Ryan asked, giving up. He was too tired to figure out the answer by himself.

"Nothing's wrong, Ryan."

Ryan sighed and studied Sandy. "You look nervous," he pointed out.

A brief look a surprise crossed Sandy's face. "I'm just worried," he said.

"I'm sorry," Ryan said. "I know you didn't need me here, on top of Seth." He didn't even want to imagine the kind of organizational nightmare Kirsten and Sandy were going through right now, forced as they were to split their attention between Seth and him.

"Well, we never want to see either of you guys in the hospital," Sandy said. "But, Ryan, what I mean is that I'm worried about you, okay?"

"Sorry," Ryan repeated, unsure how to react. A month ago, the Cohens didn't even know he existed, and it always struck him as odd that they would be so concerned about him—that _anyone_ would be so concerned about him. How could his life have changed so totally, so quickly?

"I know." Sandy sighed. "It's okay, Ryan, really. Seth is fine, and so are you. You just scared us, that's all. "

Before Ryan could apologize again, Sandy added, "You know that all three of us would have been here last night, if it had been possible, right? But it's better if Seth doesn't move too much, so…"

Of course, Ryan thought, the Cohens' lives had changed too. A month ago, they wouldn't have had to take shifts with Seth so they could spend time at the hospital. A month ago, they only had one teenager to worry about.

Every time Ryan allowed himself to think about what a huge thing the Cohens had done by inviting him to stay, he felt baffled and grateful and a few thousand other things.

A yawn took him by surprise, and Sandy smiled again. "For God's sake, kid, get some sleep." He took his newspaper and opened it again.

"Sandy, if you have things to do, you can go, you know?" Ryan said, closing his eyes.

"Nonsense," Sandy replied. "You're not staying alone one minute if you don't need to, whether you like it or not."

_I don't mind_, Ryan thought, but was too tired to say.

………………………………..

The next time he woke up, Sandy was talking with a cop, gesturing wildly as the cop nodded.

Ryan felt his stomach clench at the sight of the uniform.

He couldn't see a cop and not feel tense, not wonder if he was going to go to jail. Sometimes, he wondered what it was like to feel innocent enough not to have that kind of reaction.

"Sandy?" he called, nervous.

Sandy smiled widely. "Hey! Feel better?"

Ryan took a while to think about it; no nausea, and no headache so far. And he was now wearing clothes. Overall, things were looking up.

Too bad there was a cop in the room.

However, if Sandy's behavior was any indication, the cop wasn't here to cause problems. Ryan had grown familiar with Sandy's look when he was defending Ryan against various authorities—a mix of self-righteousness, controlled anger and eagerness, and Sandy didn't look any of those things right now.

"Ryan?" Sandy called, a worried frown replacing his smile.

"I'm fine," Ryan said. "Sorry."

Sandy looked like he was about to insist, but the cop coughed discreetly, as if to remind them that he was there.

Not that Ryan needed the reminder.

Ryan watched as Sandy smiled tightly and nodded at Ryan. "Ryan, this is Officer Kirk, and he'd like to ask you a few questions about last night."

"Okay," Ryan said uncertainly, wondering why Sandy looked so annoyed.

Had he been wrong when he had thought that there was no problem?

The cop took a seat and Sandy stood next to Ryan's bed, arms crossed, watching him with an undecipherable expression.

It didn't take Ryan long to find out what that was all about.

Officer Kirk had a tendency, which Ryan found incredibly annoying, to repeat everything Ryan was saying as he noted it, then to look at Ryan for confirmation.

He also asked the same questions several times, and Ryan quickly grew tired of repeating his answers.

Sandy seemed torn between amusement and annoyance as Ryan glared at the cop who was asking, for the third time, if he really didn't remember anything else. He finally jumped in when Ryan said, through clenched teeth, "No, I was knocked out and I don't remember seeing that guy run in any particular direction. Since I was, you know, knocked _out_."

"And I think that will be it," Sandy said.

About damn time.

Ryan was about ready to snap at the cop—never a smart move, but damn it, surely, it was clear enough that Ryan didn't remember much about last night.

"You have Mrs. Thyls' statement," Sandy added. Ryan snickered inwardly at the shiver that went through Kirk's frame at the mention of her name. "And Ryan has already told you everything he could remember. So, we'll call if he ever remembers anything else. If not, there's really not much point in continuing to interrogate him."

And this was one of the many reasons why Ryan liked Sandy and was profoundly grateful that he had gotten him as a PD.

"I'm sorry," the cop said. "It's just that this man attacked Mrs. Thyls, and we have his description, but, well, he's not on file and we don't know where to start looking…"

And they were terrified that the investigation wasn't going to turn anything up, because then, they'd have to face the wrath of Mrs. Thyls, Ryan thought.

He would have felt sorry for Officer Kirk, if he hadn't been a cop.

An _annoying_ cop.

An annoying cop who was finally thanking him for his cooperation (that had to be a first, Ryan thought wryly) before being escorted out of the room by Sandy.

Ryan heaved a big sigh when the door closed on Officer Kirk. "Thank God," he mumbled.

Sandy smiled. "You okay?"

"Glad it's over," Ryan replied.

"Headache?" Sandy insisted, hovering near the door.

Ryan thought about it, and recognized the familiar signs of the building migraine.

Great.

"Now that you mention it…" he admitted.

"Want me to call one of the cute nurses?"

Ryan chuckled. "No, thanks, I think I'll try to sleep it off."

Sandy still hesitated, and Ryan added, more forcefully, "It's not the first time talking to a cop gives me a headache."

Sandy rolled his eyes but accepted his answer, and came back to the chair. "If you're sure."

Ryan wasn't sure, but he thought it was worth a shot.

Lying down, he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

* * *

TBC 


	5. Chapter 5

**Title** : In The Beginning

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG, I guess.

**Summary** : Ryan runs into some trouble, as he tends to do in fanfic (happy people have no stories, right?)

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN **: Written for finlee, who wanted, "_Ryan helps an old lady - who turns out to be the most feared woman in Newport Beach (but is actually very nice-she just likes people to be uncomfortable around her)_."

Many thanks to Joey51 for beta'ing this.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

It took some doing, but Ryan eventually managed to convince Kirsten to spend the night home. "Since I'm going to sleep anyway, there's no point in you staying there," he pointed out.

She looked exhausted (no wonder, after two days spent taking care of two injured teenagers) and Ryan felt relieved when she finally agreed to go sleep in her own bed. 

"We'll call," she said as she was leaving. She looked ill at ease, almost as if she felt guilty for leaving Ryan, which was ridiculous considering everything she had done for him already.

"And if you need anything, please call us, okay? No matter what time it is," Kirsten added.

Ryan smiled and agreed, thinking that if he needed anything, the nurses would be there to take care of it.

Even though he appreciated the Cohens' help, Ryan had to admit that he was glad to finally be able to spend some time alone. There had been someone with him almost non-stop since he had been admitted here, and he wasn't used to being watched that way all the time. The only other time that had happened had been in Juvie, and it made him feel slightly claustrophobic now.

He needed some time, some privacy; he needed some space to just be himself, without having to put up a front and reassure Sandy and Kirsten.

Somehow, he thought Kirsten understood that, and that was one of the reasons why she had accepted to leave.

Ryan stretched carefully, mindful of his sore muscles, and enjoyed the solitude while it lasted. He had the feeling that Seth wouldn't leave him alone once he was back at the Cohens.

…………………

Ryan's second day in the hospital dragged by.

While he still suffered from intermittent headaches, he didn't feel as sleepy anymore, which meant that he was bored out of his mind, and was lucid enough to suffer the full effects from the boredom.

Kirsten spent the morning with him, and Sandy arrived around noon to "take the next shift," as he jokingly said.

Ryan tried to apologize again, and Sandy brushed it off.

"That's what we're here for," he said, the unspoken "_And the sooner you accept it, the better_," making Ryan smile.

He had to admit that he was grateful for the company. He knew there were fates worse than being stuck in the hospital, and the nurses and doctors were nice, but he didn't have anything to _do_, and that was bugging him to no end.

Kirsten had brought him some comic books when she had arrived in the morning—"Seth's idea," she had said, shrugging—but Ryan couldn't really focus enough to read.

Sandy had brought him an iPod—"Seth downloaded you some songs. I don't know if you'll like that kind of music," he had said, and it sounded like he was apologizing. Ryan didn't have the heart to tell Sandy that he didn't really listen to music, that he had never managed to develop an interest for it. He took the iPod with a smile and a thank you.

The songs Seth had downloaded were good, as far as Ryan could tell, but listening to music quickly gave him a headache.

He was about to give up and try to sleep when Sandy's cell phone started to ring—a cheerful tune Ryan couldn't identify. It managed to be very much like Sandy, and at the same time, incredibly unlike him.

Sandy took a look at the caller ID and handed the phone to Ryan.

"It's for you."

When Ryan frowned and made no move to take the phone, he added, "It's Seth."

"Oh God," Ryan mumbled, taking the phone and fumbling with the buttons.

"Good luck," Sandy said, laughter in his voice.

Ryan smiled weakly. "Hey," he said into the phone.

"Hey, Ryan! So, you finally met the scary lady, huh?" Seth sounded excited and, well, bouncy. Ryan had always thought that bouncy people didn't really exist, that it was just a way for lazy writers to describe one of their characters.

Then, he had met Seth.

He closed his eyes, shaking his head softly. "Yeah."

"How are things going?"

"Okay," Ryan said. A more honest answer would have been, "I'm stuck in a fucking hospital and I'm bored out of my skull," but Sandy was within earshot, and Ryan didn't want to sound ungrateful. "You?"

"Are all your answers going to be so short and to-the-point?"

"Yes," he said, grinning, wondering how long he could torture Seth until the other boy gave up.

"Okay," Seth drawled. Ryan chuckled. "And to answer your question, I, my friend, am suffering. A lot. You can't imagine what it's like."

"Sure, I can," Ryan said, remembering a few incidents in his past.

"Hey, that was more than one word!"

Ryan sighed as Seth's loud voice made his head ring. "Seth, I'll be released in a few hours," he said.

"And that's cool, cause I don't know about you, but I'm bored with only the 'rents for company." There was a shuffle and a muffled, "Ow, that _hurts_, woman." Another shuffle and Seth added, in a put-upon tone, "Well, The Kirsten has ordered me to leave you in peace for now."

Ryan didn't know whether he should be grateful for Kirsten's intervention or not. On one hand, a discussion with Seth would probably tire him out fast, but on the other hand, it was easier to talk with Seth than it was to talk with his parents.

"So, see you later, man!" Seth finished.

"Yeah, later," Ryan said.

He ended the call and handed the phone back to Sandy, who was watching him, amused.

"Did he try to grill you?"

"Kirsten jumped in," Ryan replied.

"Headache?" Sandy asked when Ryan rubbed his forehead.

"A little." Sandy opened his mouth and Ryan hurriedly added, "Don't call the nurse. It'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Ryan said. "I'll just try to sleep it off."

Sandy didn't look convinced, but he didn't insist.

Despite the fact that he had spent most of the last two days either unconscious or drugged up, Ryan still managed to fall asleep fairly quickly, to his relief. He didn't have to stare at the ceiling or to try to make awkward conversation when he slept, and that was all that mattered.

…………………

Ryan spent the afternoon listening to the doctor's advice and to the nurses' instructions on how to take care of his concussion.

Sandy was still there, listening to what the doctors were saying, nodding, asking questions, and Ryan tried to remember the last time his mother had even bothered to take him to a doctor when he was hurt, let alone taken an interest in what kind of symptoms she should look out for once Ryan came back home.

It was long ago, that much he knew.

Dawn had never dealt well with medical emergencies, or even with children sicknesses in general. Ryan could still remember how freaked out she had been the last time Trey had had the flu, almost hyperventilating when she realized that Trey was running a fairly high fever and she didn't know what to do to help him. In true Dawn fashion, she had just drunk and ignored the problem, and it had fallen on Ryan to take his brother to the free clinic, and then to take care of him when he was back home.

Trey hadn't been an easy patient, Ryan remembered now. He seemed to consider getting sick as a personal failure, and Trey tended to be bitter and angry and, frankly, a pain in the ass, when he felt like he had failed.

"Still with us, kid?" Sandy asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

Ryan startled back into reality. "Yeah, sorry," he said, smiling sheepishly.

Sandy nodded. "The doctor has gone to draw the paperwork. You should go change." He hesitated, as if he wanted to add something and didn't know how to say it.

"What?" Ryan asked.

Sandy sighed and rubbed his eyes. "We tried to find you mother," he announced.

Ryan's first, knee-jerked reaction was to think that perhaps the Cohens wanted him to go back live with her after all, but before he could say anything, Sandy added, "We thought she had the right to know that you'd been hurt."

"Okay," Ryan said carefully, willing his heart to slow down.

It was stupid, he knew.

If the Cohens had planned on sending him back to Chino, they wouldn't have spent so much time in the hospital with him, right?

_Right_, he thought, trying to pay attention to what Sandy was saying now.

"The number she had given us is no longer in service, and she moved to another place," Sandy said. "We don't have her new address."

Unsure how he should react, Ryan waited.

"You okay?" Sandy asked.

"Sure," Ryan replied.

After all, his mother had thrown him out, and he had always known that she was serious, that she wouldn't change her mind.

Granted, not knowing where she was and who she was with was slightly worse than just being far away from her—after all, his mother was not exactly known for her ability to take care of herself—but all in all, not _that_ much worse.

"I can ask the P.I. I had already hired to—"

"No," Ryan cut him off. The last thing he wanted was the Cohens to spend even more money to find his mother again. There was really no reason to look for her if she wouldn't take him back. He took a deep breath. "Don't bother with it."

Sandy hesitated. "You sure? Money is not an issue, Ryan."

_Easy for you to say_, Ryan thought. He already felt bad enough for the hospital bill, the clothes they had bought for him, the model home he had burned down. He didn't need Sandy to spend money trying to find his mother, just so she could reject Ryan again.

"Ryan?"

"Yeah," Ryan said, hoping he sounded more sure than he felt. "I'm sure."

It was a little strange to be completely cut off from her—he at least knew where his father and Trey were, and he supposed he'd be notified if something happened to them. Not knowing what his mother was doing, and if she was fine, made him feel more lonely than he had ever felt, even more so than when he had entered his home in Chino to find it empty.

There was no need to say so to Sandy, though.

"If you change your mind, let me know," Sandy insisted.

Ryan nodded absently. "I should go change," he said, heading for the bathroom without looking at Sandy.

He closed the door behind him, grateful for the momentary privacy.

He didn't know how to react to Sandy's repeated offers for help.

He was slowly discovering that sometimes, kindness was almost as hard to stand as violence or indifference—at least he knew how to take a punch. When someone hit him, he could either run or fight back, feel angry, and be done with it.

But what was he supposed to do when someone tried to help him? Take it and say thanks seemed like such an inappropriate response, seemed so pitifully inadequate…

Ryan sighed.

Until he found something better, he'd just have to hope that it was enough.

…………………

Ryan and Sandy made it back to the Cohens just in time for supper.

Predictably, Seth greeted Ryan with, "Hey, here comes the Man Who Saved The Scary Lady's Life!"

"I don't think the guy would have killed her, Seth," Ryan replied at the same time Kirsten said, "Don't call her Scary Lady."

Seth rolled his eyes, shrugged and pouted.

Kirsten shook her head at him, then smiled at Ryan and hugged him gently. "How do you feel?"

He shrugged. "Okay. Glad to be out of the hospital." _Thrilled_ would have been more like it, actually, but somehow, he had the feeling the Cohens knew what he meant.

"I can understand that," Seth said, frowning at his leg. Then he brightened. "So, you must tell me everything!"

"Seth, I'm sure Ryan would like to—"

"Oh, come on, Mom! Haven't I waited long enough for a detailed account of what happened?"

"Detailed?" Ryan asked, smirking.

Seth sighed and gave up. "Fine, any type of account will do. Detailed or concise, your choice." He gestured to a chair. "Come on, man."

"It's okay," Ryan told Kirsten, as she seemed about to protest. He sat down, and waited for Seth to launch into his questioning.

…………………

Sandy and Kirsten left them alone for a while, but came back as Ryan was telling Seth that Mrs. Thyls had visited him in the hospital.

"Wow, and you survived," Seth said. "Did she bite?"

"She was polite," Ryan replied. He certainly wasn't going to tell Seth about what he and Mrs. Thyls had talked about; he had promised he'd keep her secret, and he planned to keep his word. Besides, there was still a chance he had dreamed up the whole encounter. Granted, the painkillers hadn't been that strong, and Ryan didn't think his brain would produce those kind of hallucinations, but well, this was Newport, so who knew…

"Ryan, she's the Scary Lady!" Seth said, incredulous. "She's ruthless, she's a hard-ass, she doesn't do polite."

"Seth, stop talking about her that way!" Kirsten said. "She's a dedicated woman, and she's been through a lot. She deserves some compassion."

"But you've got to admit that she's scary," Seth insisted.

Kirsten bit her lower lip. "Oh…"

Ryan glanced at Sandy, who had an enigmatic smile on his face.

He noticed that, again, Sandy didn't participate in a discussion involving Mrs. Thyls.

_Interesting._

Before Ryan could think about what that meant, Seth nodded to the play station controller. "How about a game?"

"We're eating in ten minutes," Kirsten protested.

"That's more than I need to defeat Ryan," Seth announced.

Ryan nodded. "Sure. You keep telling yourself that."

Kirsten insisted. "Ryan needs to rest."

"I'll probably crash once we've eaten," Ryan admitted. "It's just for a few minutes."

Kirsten shook her head at them. "Fine. Ten minutes."

"Thanks," Ryan said.

Then, Seth started the game and Ryan tried to focus on what Seth was saying—something about how he had almost managed to do a stunt he had worked on for two years on his skateboard.

"Too bad it didn't work," Ryan said.

"Yeah. Well, I'll try again."

Ryan doubted that very much, but he supposed watching Seth try to convince his parents would be fun.

…………………

Ryan woke up to whispered voices.

That was strange.

Usually, when he awoke in the middle of the night, there was yelling involved.

"It's okay, Seth. Let's get you to bed, okay?"

It came back, then—the Cohens, Seth and his accident, and Mrs. Thyls and the thug.

He and Seth must have fallen asleep while talking on the couch.

Feeling strangely sad, as he always did these days when he woke up and he remembered that he wasn't home, and _why_ he wasn't, Ryan kept quiet. He could feel his head pounding with each heartbeat—clearly, that video game hadn't been a good idea. Perhaps, if he stayed very still, it wouldn't worsen.

"I'm sorry," he heard Seth say. "I know it's my fault and all, and I'm really sorry, but it hurts now…"

"I know, honey," Kirsten said, and curiosity got the better of Ryan. He opened one eye and watched on as Kirsten ruffled Seth's hair and helped him to sit up. "You'll feel better in your bed," she added, and Ryan closed his eyes just as she was starting to smile at her son comfortingly.

Ryan firmly focussed on the present, refusing to even think about the last time he had suffered from a broken leg, and how Dawn had reacted, and how Trey had been the one taking him to the doctor's appointments, explaining that Dawn was at work, or sick, to justify her absence.

Ryan hadn't understood then why Dawn couldn't stay sober long enough to come with him.

_It doesn't matter_, Ryan thought.

It was all in the past now, it didn't matter anymore, and Kirsten and Sandy had been with him all the time at the hospital, and Ryan wasn't sure he understood that either. How could anyone spend time with a kid they barely knew, when their own son was injured too?

Sandy's voice brought him back to the present.

"I'll help Seth upstairs, Kirsten. Why don't you try to wake Ryan up?"

There was no answer, but Ryan heard Seth muttering "Ow, ow, ow," and supposed that Sandy had helped him to his feet.

"Come on, son, let's get you settled upstairs and you'll get another pill."

"Yay," Seth said, his tone sarcastic.

Then, Ryan felt a hand brushing his hair, and Kirsten said softly, "Ryan?"

He opened his eyes. "Hey."

"You were awake the whole time?" she asked.

He didn't look at her as he replied, "Yeah. Sorry, I didn't mean to…"

She smiled. "I know. It's okay. If Seth had known you were awake, he'd probably have insisted to start another game."

"Yeah." He shifted and grimaced slightly. He was sore all over—certainly a consequence of sleeping on the couch—and his head was starting to ache again.

"Headache?" Kirsten asked.

"A little," he admitted.

"Okay. Well, I'll tell you the same as Seth; let's get you to bed, and you'll have one of these pain pills."

"Cool," Ryan said.

He sat up slowly and got to his feet. Kirsten's hand settled on his arm and didn't move as they both made their way to the pool house, a comforting gesture that made Ryan both grateful and self-conscious.

She stayed there as he went to the bathroom and put on some sweatpants and an old wife beater.

She waited until he was settled in bed to go fetch a glass of water, handing it to him with two familiar-looking pills.

He swallowed it and lay back, exhausted, and Kirsten turned off the lights, leaving only the bedside lamp on.

He wondered if she would insist on staying there for the night, but she smiled and said, "We'll let you have your privacy back, as long as you promise to call if you have a problem."

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem," she replied, shutting off that last lamp. "Call if you need anything, okay?" she added, hovering near the door.

"Yeah."

He heard exit the room softly, then drifted to sleep.

* * *

TBC… 


	6. Chapter 6

**Title** : In The Beginning

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG, I guess.

**Summary** : Ryan runs into some trouble, as he tends to do in fanfic (happy people have no stories, right?)

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN **: Written for finlee, who wanted, "_Ryan helps an old lady - who turns out to be the most feared woman in Newport Beach (but is actually very nice-she just likes people to be uncomfortable around her)_."

Many thanks to Joey51 for beta'ing this.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

For the next few days, Sandy and Kirsten watched Ryan and Seth like hawks, always ready to come to the rescue should the boys need any help. It was as amusing as it was touching and heartening, and despite Seth's loud complaints about his parents' hovering, Ryan quietly enjoyed it.

He couldn't bring himself to mind their attention, even though part of him (the part that kept insisting that it was safer to remain out of sight, hidden) felt a little overwhelmed by it all.

Ryan also knew that Seth, for all his complaints, appreciated everything his parents did for him.

"Dude, I'm glad you're here," Seth once said, after making sure that Kirsten was out of hearing range. "At least she gets to mother both of us… she'd have been so much more overbearing if I had been alone."

"Glad I could help," Ryan said sarcastically. "And all it took was me getting my ass kicked."

Seth looked slightly taken aback for a few seconds, then he smiled brightly. "But you get to be the wounded hero, man. Chicks like that."

_What chicks?_ Ryan thought. Marissa was back with Luke, and it was not as if Ryan had had time to go out and meet anyone else. Not that he felt like socializing right now. He had been burned once with Marissa, and he was planning to stay as far away from Newport girls as he could manage. They obviously needed more than he was willing to give.

"All I got is a lousy cast," Seth added. "Pain in the ass. Look at the bright side, you're a hero and you won't need to spend weeks with a broken leg. Your bruises are almost gone."

Instinctively, Ryan reached up and touched the area around his eye. It was a lot less tender, but the bruise was still there, slowly turning yellow—a reminder of how bad things tended to get whenever the Atwood luck zeroed in on Ryan and messed with his life.

Seth didn't need to know that; if things held true, he'd figure out soon enough that, even in a supposedly safe environment, Ryan would still end up in fights. Trey used to call it Ryan's inner talent, his "gift," but he usually said so with a worried frown or a smack on Ryan's head, depending on his mood.

"Right," he said, since Seth seemed to be waiting for an answer. "Well, I can't wait until they're really gone and things go back to normal."

Seth stretched and yawned. "It sucks being stuck in the house."

Ryan hummed in agreement, even though he didn't find it that horrible, all things considered.

Of course, he tended to like quiet and stillness, whereas Seth was a "growing teenager in need of fresh air so he doesn't dwindle away," in his own words.

"And you know what's worse?" Seth asked.

"What?"

Seth gestured to his leg. "I won't be out of that thing before school starts."

"It won't be that bad," Ryan tried. "Injuries of war, and all that."

Seth shook his head, unconvinced.

Hell, Ryan himself wasn't convinced.

He had seen the way the Newport kids treated Seth, and from what little Seth had told him, he knew that only one thing would make it all better: graduation day.

Ryan thought about something comforting to say, like, "You won't be alone," or, "I'm sure they'll find someone else to bully this year," but everything sounded lame in his own head.

So, instead, he grabbed a controller. "Game?" he suggested.

Seth brightened at the suggestion.

…………………

When Sandy entered the poolhouse that afternoon, Ryan immediately guessed that they weren't going to talk about light-hearted topics, like the masterful way Ryan had kicked Seth's ass at the game, and the no less masterful way Seth had brooded and whined until Ryan accepted a rematch that he allowed Seth to win.

Sandy looked like a man on the warpath, and Ryan had already had ample opportunity to meet the man's obstinate side.

He wondered what he might have done to deserve a talking to, but since he hadn't left the house since he had been released from the hospital, he came up blank.

"Hey, kid. How are you doing?" Sandy asked, hovering near the door.

"Fine," Ryan said, carefully. "Did I do something?'"

Sandy frowned. "Why would you think—?"

"You have on your 'serious talk' face," Ryan pointed out.

Sandy had a brief, unconvincing smile. "I'm afraid so," he said. "But it's not anything you did."

"Okay," Ryan said.

He didn't know why he suddenly felt like he was treading on thin ice, but he had learned long ago to listen to his instincts. It was the sticking to his gut feeling part he still had problems with.

Sandy walked in and lowered himself on a seat. "I talked to our family doctor," he announced.

Unsure where this was going, Ryan nodded slowly.

"I made an appointment for you, in a few days, and I told him about what had happened to you, and…"

Sandy trailed off, staring down at his hands.

"Sandy?" Ryan asked.

Sandy sighed, and looked up at Ryan. "There's no easy way to ask this, so I'm just going to… in your file, there's a mention of one time when you were brought unconscious to the hospital. And Social Services finally forwarded your files from Fresno, since we've accepted to act as your guardians."

Ryan felt his face go blank, but didn't react, waiting to see what Sandy had to say.

"And there's a report of another…"

"Incident?" Ryan supplied when Sandy trailed off. He tried to keep his tone neutral, but the memories from Fresno were all but calm-inspiring.

Sandy bit his lip, looking as uncomfortable as Ryan had ever seen him. "Yes."

There was a tense silence, and Ryan focussed on the humming of the fridge; he usually found it soothing, but right this moment, it was grating on his nerves.

Right this moment, _everything_ grated on his nerves.

"I assume that these weren't the only times you were knocked unconscious," Sandy finally said.

Ryan shook his head softly and Sandy sighed heavily, as if Ryan had just confirmed his suspicions.

"It wasn't—" Ryan tried to say.

Sandy cut him off. "It's okay, Ryan. I'm not trying to…" He sighed again.

Ryan looked down and waited for Sandy to say something else.

Nothing came.

"Is something wrong?" Ryan finally asked when he couldn't stand this silence one more minute.

Sandy shook himself and looked at Ryan, his face unreadable. "No, Ryan, nothing's wrong, don't worry."

"Then what… Sandy, you're a little…" Ryan trailed off, unsure how to put it. Intense? Worried? Freaked out?

Sandy got up and took a few steps. "Bill—he's our family doctor—told me a little about the possible consequences of suffering from several concussions, especially severe ones, and—"

Ryan tuned Sandy out. Well, at least it made sense now.

He had once, out of morbid curiosity, done some research himself on the same subject.

What he had found hadn't been heart-warming.

All the websites he had consulted insisted on the fact that there was no such thing as a "minor" concussion, and that the cumulative effects of several concussions could lead to permanent damage.

Memory loss.

Increased irritability.

Frequent migraines.

But he had never suffered from any of these symptoms—had never even had a really _bad_ concussion, the kind of which would have scrambled his brain so bad that he'd need speech therapy or PT or something really expensive and specialized.

Sure, like everyone else, he knew he needed to avoid hitting his head, but so far, he had been lucky, and it wasn't as if he was doing it on purpose anyway.

"Sandy…" he started to say. Then he stopped, because, what could he say? "It's over now," he finished, lamely. Obviously, he had escaped serious consequences this time too—just a few bruises, and headaches that were starting to fade already.

"Yes," Sandy said, a hand coming to rest on Ryan's shoulder. "Yes, it is. But, Ryan, Bill is going to have a discussion with you on how important it is to try to avoid such injuries, and I thought I'd do the same thing, because…"

Because Ryan wouldn't stay lucky indefinitely.

Because head injuries were tricky, and they added up, and if he kept on his current pace, some day he was going to be in serious trouble, and Ryan didn't want that.

"I know," he said, as Sandy trailed off.

"Good," Sandy said. He smiled, kind and encouraging, like he usually did when he was trying to convince Ryan that he could make it work in Newport, with the Cohens, if he only tried. "Just… be careful, okay?"

Ryan wondered if Sandy had come directly from the doctor's office to his room, and what the doctor had told him to make him this frantic, this eager to make sure that Ryan wouldn't slam his head into the nearest wall, or against the ground, anytime soon.

"Ryan?"

It seemed like it was all he said, all Kirsten and Seth said; _never do that again._

Ryan would have loved to grant them their wish, and would certainly do his best, but in the end, it all came down to the fact that he was pathologically unable to look away when someone needed help.

"I'll be careful," Ryan said. That much he could promise, but would being careful be enough?

Sandy patted his shoulder, nodded towards the house.

"Seth complained that he was hungry when I came back," he said. "Perhaps we should…"

Ryan shrugged. "Sure," he said, getting to his feet, Sandy staying close to him.

He felt Sandy's hand hovering on his back all the way to the kitchen.

* * *

TBC 


	7. Chapter 7

**Title** : In The Beginning

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG, I guess.

**Summary** : Ryan runs into some trouble, as he tends to do in fanfic (happy people have no stories, right?)

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN **: Written for finlee, who wanted, "_Ryan helps an old lady - who turns out to be the most feared woman in Newport Beach (but is actually very nice-she just likes people to be uncomfortable around her)_."

Many thanks to Joey51 for beta'ing this.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Two weeks came and went.

Ryan's bruises faded, and his headaches eventually disappeared—and not one second too soon, either.

He met Bill Allworth, the Cohen's family doctor, who lectured him on the necessity to avoid blows to the head—_as if that wasn't a given_, Ryan thought—and eventually received a clean bill of health.

The police arrested a suspect that Mrs. Thyls identified as her aggressor. Ryan still couldn't remember the face of the guy and wasn't required to testify again.

"He'll probably get away with a slap on the wrist," Sandy told Ryan. Ryan wasn't sure what to think about that. Sure, the guy has hit an old woman and sent Ryan to the hospital, but, well, Ryan had met Sandy because he had helped his brother to steal a car, and had stolen more than his fair share of handbags, back in the days. Not everything he had done was in his file, thankfully.

……………………….

Classes started, and while Seth tried to argue that he couldn't go to Harbor wearing a cast, the Cohens were having none of it, much to his displeasure.

"What's the point of being hurt if it doesn't even allow you to be excused from school?" Seth asked one morning.

"I think the point is to avoid being hurt at all," Ryan replied. "Or else I misunderstood everything you and your parents have told me in the last two weeks."

Harbor was as uptight a school as the town was, and Ryan mostly kept to himself, and to Seth. He didn't need trouble, and the best way to avoid trouble seemed to be becoming invisible.

Ryan was a master at that game.

He avoided Luke, avoided Marissa, kept his head down in class, contributing only enough to prove to the teachers that he was awake and intelligent enough to be there, but not so much as to draw any attention of any kind to himself.

He easily fell into a routine, and mostly found it enjoyable.

He had fun with Seth, he was working hard to catch up to his classmates, and for the first time in his life, he was actually doing his best to keep out of trouble, and managing.

Oh, sure, there were a few discreet incidents with water polo players, but once Luke finally realized Ryan was no longer interested in Marissa, he left him alone, and his cohort followed suit.

Would wonders ever cease?

……………………….

Just as Ryan was starting to cautiously relax into his new life, he came home one day to find Seth waiting for him in the kitchen, excited and smiling.

"What's up?" Ryan asked as Seth waved a card at him.

"Dude!" Seth all but yelled. "You've been summoned to the Scary Lady's manor!"

_Trust Seth to be melodramatic_, Ryan thought, before the words sunk in.

"What?" he yelped—that is, calmly said.

"She sent a card," Kirsten threw in, more calmly. "She's inviting you over for tea."

She seemed as bewildered as Ryan felt, which didn't make him feel any better. He had thought she'd said everything she wanted to say, and that he'd never see her again, aside from a few Newport functions, and he had been fine with it. And now, he was supposed to go to her place?

Willingly?

"Dude, this is so cool," Seth said, smiling broadly. "You've got to take notes, once you're inside the lion's den. And pictures. We need to get you one of these tiny digital cameras, like they use in Alias, and—"

Kirsten cut him off, frowning, and Seth pouted and protested, while Ryan silently reflected on how weird his life had become.

……………………….

Much to Seth's displeasure, the Cohens didn't buy Ryan a tiny camera—or any camera at all.

They didn't say much about Mrs. Thyls' invitation, either. Sandy looked amused, shrugged and said, "I'll drive you." Kirsten frowned a lot, but didn't say anything other than, "She's an old woman and she did a lot for the community, so…" She didn't add "be polite," for which Ryan was grateful.

And now, here he was, in front of Mrs. Thyls' house—which was as big as any other house in Newport, but Ryan didn't recognize Caleb Nichol's style in this. It was more… elegant, less overbuilt than any other house in this town, in some way he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Less ostentatious, maybe?

He rang the doorbell hesitantly and the door opened before he could even pull his finger back, revealing a stern-looking, tuxedoed, grey-haired man.

"Yes?" the man asked.

Ryan dropped his arm and had a fleeting thought for Seth. He had the feeling that his friend would just love this situation.

"Mrs. Thyls is expecting me," he said, keeping his tone neutral despite the look the man was giving him.

It was the same kind of look Trey usually reserved for the likes of AJ.

"Enter," the man said, stiffly, taking a step back to allow Ryan in. The whole scene seemed to come from an old movie, and Ryan mentally shook his head and fought the urge to burst into laughter.

A butler.

An obnoxious butler—was there any other kind?

And was there really nothing these people wouldn't do to show how wealthy they were?

The butler showed him to a room and left on a disdainful, "Please wait here."

He was obviously too well-groomed to add, "Don't start a fire," but it was written all over his face.

Seth was definitely going to get a kick out of this.

Ryan stood in the middle of the room, taking in the flowery wallpaper and the wooden furniture. He didn't think anything in this room cost less than the house he had lived in back in Chino, except perhaps the cushions on the couch, and he wasn't so sure about that either.

And to think that he'd been impressed by the Cohens' house…

"Ah, Ryan," Mrs. Thyls called from the door, startling him. "I'm glad you came."

The way her invitation had been phrased, Ryan hadn't been left with much of a choice—he didn't know how she had made "Would you join me for tea?" sound like an executive order, but she had managed.

Of course, she had worked hard to deserve the title of Newport Beach's most feared woman…

"Erm," he said. "Thanks for inviting me."

"My pleasure." She came in the room and sat down, gesturing for Ryan to follow suit. "John will bring us tea in a moment."

There was a pause. Ryan wondered if he should fill the silence, but he had no idea what to say, so he went with his favorite strategy and kept quiet. He couldn't say anything stupid if he didn't say anything at all and besides, Mrs. Thyls had been nice to him so far and he didn't want to change her mind and get on her bad side.

The butler came in just as Ryan was starting to get truly uncomfortable. He served tea, keeping a scornful look firmly planted on his face all the while. Mrs. Thyls smiled serenely at him when he left. For a second, Ryan felt like he was stuck in a strange dream, or back in the hospital, disoriented and hallucinating slightly.

He waited for Mrs. Thyls to take a sip of her own drink before tasting his. He had never drank tea before, and he refrained from grimacing at the first taste.

"So, Ryan," Mrs. Thyls said.

He smiled nervously, taking another sip—better this time. Clearly, it was yet another acquired taste.

"How do you like Newport so far?"

"It's fine," Ryan said. Was this really what she wanted to talk to him about? What was this? The unofficial welcoming committee? Because as far as he was concerned, Luke and his cronies had already done a good job of showing him how things were done in Newport.

Like tea, Newport seemed to be an acquired taste—and Ryan hadn't been around long enough to acquire it yet.

She snorted. "Fine, huh."

He shrugged. What did she expect? He'd been abandoned here by his mother, and he didn't have to like it. The only people he owed anything to were the Cohens.

He certainly didn't owe Mrs. Thyls anything, despite her standing in the community.

"I think I like you," she said when he didn't elaborate. "I like people who can keep it shut."

_The better for you to insult them?_ he thought uncharitably, and felt ashamed immediately. She had always been nice to him, and he had no reason to bad-mouth her, even privately.

She was looking at him, probably waiting for an answer, and this time, he felt compelled to give him one. "I don't know what to say."

"Most people don't, when I'm around," she stated, almost proudly. "I just wanted to make sure that someone other than the Cohens welcomed you into town, and I didn't think our little chat at the hospital had been enough."

Ryan glanced at his rapidly-cooling cup of tea, thinking about the look of barely-veiled contempt half his teachers bestowed on him when their eyes fell on him, the hostile whispers of the jocks when he was walking down the hallways. And about Kirsten and Sandy, sitting with him in the hospital, and Seth, who tried to share his parents like he would share toys; eager and generous and sincere, as if he couldn't just keep such wonderful people all to himself and he wanted Ryan to enjoy them too. "I appreciate that," he said. "I do, it's just… you don't have to do this."

"I don't do anything I don't want to do, young man," she said firmly. "I'm sure you must have heard stories to attest to that fact."

He nodded, biting back a smile.

Seth had used fairly colorful words when he had told Ryan some of these stories.

"Good. Now, Sandy tells me you're interested in architecture?"

Wondering where that was coming from, Ryan nodded. "Sure."

"Good," she said. "My husband was an architect, you know. He built this house himself." She got to her feet. "Come on," she said. "Time for a tour."

……………………….

An hour later, Mrs. Thyls lead Ryan to the door. Kirsten was waiting in her car, and Mrs. Thyls smiled smugly.

"I once told Caleb Nichol exactly what I thought about these atrocities he calls houses that he builds," she said. "Kirsten tried to defend him. We had words."

Ryan was about to jump to Kirsten's defense when Mrs. Thyls added, "She's a great woman, Kirsten, but her father is another matter."

Ryan could only agree with that assessment.

"Well, I'm sure I'll see you around, Ryan."

"Thanks for the tour," Ryan said. Her husband had obviously had a gift when it came to house building.

He climbed into the car and Kirsten waved at Mrs. Thyls when she pulled back.

Ryan shot a look behind and saw Mrs. Thyls standing there, watching them as they went away.

"Did it go well?" Kirsten asked.

"Yeah," Ryan said, softly. "It went well."

* * *

TBC 


	8. Epilogue

**Title** : In The Beginning

**Author** : Helen C.

**Rating** : PG, I guess.

**Summary** : Ryan runs into some trouble, as he tends to do in fanfic (happy people have no stories, right?)

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN **: Written for finlee, who wanted, "_Ryan helps an old lady - who turns out to be the most feared woman in Newport Beach (but is actually very nice-she just likes people to be uncomfortable around her)_."

Many thanks to Joey51 for beta'ing this.

* * *

**Epilogue**

The Cohens hosted a party about two months after school started. Ryan's encounter with the thug was now just another bad memory, Seth had finally been able to lose his cast and start PT, and Kirsten wanted to celebrate.

Sometimes, Ryan wondered if he would ever get over how much people in Newport partied. Every week, there was an event, or a function, or a party, and Ryan couldn't for the life of him figure out what was the difference between the three. To his untrained eye, it always came down to putting on nice clothes and drinking and eating and talking/gossiping.

After half an hour spent in the company of Newpsies and of the kids he saw at school, Ryan decided he had had enough.

As discreetly as possible, he made his way to the patio, where he almost bumped into Marissa. She had a drink in hand and seemed sad, as she usually did, pretty much all the time.

She smiled at him, almost hopefully, and he nodded briefly at her before beating a hasty retreat to the poolhouse. He glimpsed Luke, who was standing apart from the crowd, studying Marissa and frowning.

Seemed like not all was well for them, then.

Ryan just hoped Marissa wasn't going to start chasing after him—he had reached some kind of uneasy, tacit truce with Luke, and he didn't want the hostilities to start up again.

Ryan sat on his bed and tried to loosen up a little. Attending one of these parties was akin to walking into a war zone. He kept walking on cultural landmines and getting hit by acerbic comments thrown his way by cynical, surgically-redone women.

He needed some time to lick his wounds before going back into the fray, the last comment from Julie Cooper ("_So, does this mean you've decided to accept Kirsten's… charity, then_?") having been the one that made him second-guess his decision to stay here.

He knew he shouldn't have paid any attention to what these people said, but he had to admit that it was hard hearing their opinion of him, and knowing nothing he could do or say would change it.

Voices outside drew him out of his descent into self-pity.

"So, Sandy," Mrs. Thyls was saying.

Ryan smiled. Clearly, the woman wasn't biting Sandy's head off, and was actually using his first name—so, that meant that he had been right, and that Sandy knew something most people didn't about the so-called Scary Lady.

His guardian warm voice replied, "Yes?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, I'm hiding, of course," Sandy replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mrs. Thyls chuckled before asking, "How is Ryan doing?"

"Good, I think. I'll tell him you asked."

"Yes, do. Really, Sandy, I should thank you too—if you hadn't brought him into your home, who knows what would have happened that night…"

"Ryan helps people a lot," Sandy agreed.

"And you're worried about him."

There was a silence, and Ryan wondered if there was any way he could stop listening to what was turning out to be a rather private conversation—even if it was about him.

"Yes," Sandy said, at last.

"He'll be fine, Sandy. I like him."

Ryan stifled a laugh—she said it as if the fact that she liked him automatically meant that everything was going to be all right, as if Fate or Karma or God or whatever was taking orders from her.

But then, given that this was Mrs. Thyls, it was a possibility.

"I'll be sure to tell him that, too" Sandy said.

"I'm sure he already knows," Mrs. Thyls replied. "He seems very smart. He'll get along, Sanford."

"Yes."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go back and scare the hell out of Julie Cooper. You should go ask Ryan if he wants to come out of the poolhouse and come enjoy the show."

Ryan felt more than a little self conscious as she left.

Busted by the Scary Lady. _Great._

He didn't even want to know how she had guessed—the blinds were drawn and he hadn't switched on the lights.

Three seconds later, Sandy was peeking in. "Hey, kid."

"Hey." He smiled nervously.

"Strange woman, isn't she?"

Ryan nodded, but then, he thought that pretty much everyone in Newport was strange—their worries and their preoccupations seemed to be a million miles away from what the rest of the world worried about.

But he knew that wasn't true—most kids at school seemed interested only in drugs and sex, much like their counterparts in Chino. Everything was just shinier and cleaner here, at first sight at least.

"Yeah, she's scary," Sandy added, a fond smile on his face.

"How long have you known…" Ryan asked, gesturing vaguely.

"From the first time I met her. I was having words with Caleb, she overheard, and decided she liked me." Sandy winked at Ryan. "I think she has a thing for guys like us."

Ryan didn't need to ask what Sandy meant by "guys like us." He knew perfectly well—outsiders, people who watched the Newport society with a healthy amount of humor and skepticism, who lived there but didn't really belong.

"Seth and Kirsten really don't know?" he asked, curious.

"No. Do you plan to tell them?"

Ryan smiled, imagining what Mrs. Thyls would say if she ever learned that he had told anyone about her little secret. "Hell, no," he said. "She's still scary."

"In more ways than one." Sandy smiled. "Wanna come see a Julie Cooper smack down? It should be an enjoyable show."

Ryan nodded. "Sure."

And so it was that the car thief from Chino, now dressed in a horribly expensive suit, joined his lawyer-guardian to watch a seventy-year-old woman, whom everyone was scared of, humiliate in public the most obnoxious woman he had ever met.

All in all, just another day in Newport.

End


End file.
